To live again
by STech
Summary: Does everything really happen for a reason? How can life possibly go on when everyone you've ever been close to has left you? A four-part series in which Misaki learns to live again.
1. Chapter 1: Origin

**This story is meant to be slightly AU... I realize the events aren't quite by the storyline, but this is my take on things. Also, for the record, this is not going to be a romance story. **

* * *

Pain ripped through his body and a sharp cry escaped his lips. The knee came into contact with his stomach in full force once more. He grunted and fell to the floor, clenching his eyes as tight as he possibly could to keep the tears from coming. He would not cry. That was his only rule.

"My God you're weak," the man said, kicking his son from his knees to the ground. "You really are pathetic, you know that?"

Misaki did not reply, though he doubted that he could have even if he had wanted to. The pain in his abdomen and head was too great. He knew that if he opened his mouth nothing but howls of pain would ensue. Without warning, the man's foot stomped down on his left shoulder, and a gut-wrenching crack accompanied the scream that pierced the air. He instinctively rolled to his left to protect the injured limb, but the beating did not stop. Misaki assumed the fetal position and waited for the kicks raining down on him to cease, doing everything he could to protect his head and his injured arm.

"What is going on here?" A woman's voice cried, entering the room.

"MISAKE!" His mother cried. But it would not the type of cry one might expect from a mother upon seeing her son beaten and bloodied on the floor.

As the blows came to a halt, Misaki bit his lower lip to keep from crying out.

"What are you doing now?! All you ever do is cause trouble!" She yelled. His father was speaking incoherently, but aggressively. Whether it was to himself or to his mother, he was unsure. It was plainly obvious that he was drunk. She was crying now. "WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?! I WISH YOU HAD NEVER BEEN BORN!" She bellowed.

This was not the first time she had said things like this, but it hit him all the same, causing much more damage than the barrage of beatings inflicted upon him by his father.

"GET UP!" She demanded, shoving him with her hands, and then kicking him when he didn't move fast enough.

He complied as quickly as possible despite the blinding pain coursing through his entire. "GET OUT!" She cried, forcing him towards the door of the living room, and then to the front door. "GET OUT, MISAKE! YOU ARE A WASTE OF SPACE AND ALL YOU DO IS CAUSE PROBLEMS! NEVER COME BACK! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"

He grabbed his skateboard quickly as she pushed him out the door into the pouring rain. He stood on the second step just out of reach as his mother looked at him. They made eye for no more than a split second, but it felt like a lifetime. And that was when he saw it; there was no longer love in her eyes. She slammed the door in his face, leaving him standing there cold, shocked, and beyond all else, broken.

The adrenaline coursed through him long enough to get him downtown and into an alley where he took refuge under a pile of cardboard held up between a garbage can and a stairway railing. Only then did the reality of his situation come crashing down around him.

He had finally been kicked out of his home. He had contemplated leaving so many times before when his father had hurt him, but now the choice had been made for him. He could not go back. He had nowhere to go. He had no job, no money, and no education. His only skills lied in skateboarding and martial arts, and those were hardly talents that could get you anywhere in today's world. But he couldn't think about that right now. What ragged on his mind were his mother's words. She had said awful things to him before, but never quite like that. He'd always managed to look past the things she said and not take them to heart, but the look in her eyes when she slammed the door in his face said so much more than words could ever say.

_I wish you had never been born!_

The words echoed in his mind, and cut deep into his heart. What had he done that was so terrible to make his mother feel that way. How had he screwed up so badly? What could he have done differently? The hardest part was not knowing…

And with that, he hugged his skateboard tight to his chest with his uninjured arm and cried. The tears flowed freely down his face, and the emotional hurt overran all the physical pain. He sobbed uncontrollably, feeling his world coming to an end.

All the thoughts in his head start to muddle, and a numbing sensation overtook him. The pain returned to his head and to his left shoulder more horrendously than ever, and his stomach ached as he bit his lip to keep from screaming. He wanted nothing more than to melt into the street and never wake up.

As though the timing could not be any worse, Misaki heard a door almost above him open.

"Mikoto-san, where are you going?"

"Just to get some air," a man said, sounding very close by. Misaki figured that he must have been standing on the steps on which his cardboard shelter rested. His voice was deep and almost monotone, as though he were completely uninterested. There was a very strong smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke wafting from the door.

Misaki clamped his mouth shut and willed himself to keep quiet in order to remain hidden, but seconds later, three quick, not to mention very pathetic sounding, sobs escaped him, and he found himself absent mindedly shifting his body position, causing further cries.

As anticipated, he heard the footsteps as the man came down the stairs. He held his breath until finally a pair of black shoes came into view. The smell of tobacco overwhelmed him, and the man crouched down and dug his cigarette into the ground before bringing his face into Misaki's view.

Misaki could feel his entire body shaking as adrenaline pumped through his veins with a heavy heart rate. He looked up at the man before him, and was surprised to see that he looked quite young; not a day over twenty-five. He had flaming red hair, not unlike his own, and relaxed but harsh looking amber eyes. He wore a white v neck t-shirt and a black jacket with fur lining the hood. He looked rather bored as he stared at Misaki, but his attention was quickly drawn to the boy's shoulder, which was obviously disfigured, and his expression turned to one of mild concern.

"What are you doing here?" Mikoto asked in the same apathetic sounding voice.

Misaki said nothing; he opened his mouth to speak, but simply sobbed instead. He closed his eyes and buried his head in his right arm rested on his knees. He knew how terrible he looked; he was certain there was blood on his face, and his eye was nearly swollen shut. He wore only his shorts and long sleeved white shirt that clung to his skin in its drenched state and obviously didn't hide much. He was willing to bet there was significant bruising on the rest of his body by now as well.

"What happened to you?" He spoke again.

Misaki felt more pathetic than ever. He couldn't even speak to explain his situation; all he could do was cry like a baby. He had broken his one rule; never let them see you cry.

"Hey Suoh, everything alright?" A second man's voice came from above. Mikoto looked up at the man, then back at Misaki.

Misaki heard footsteps, and no sooner was he faced with a second man crouching over him. This man was blonde, pale, and looked more anxious than the red head.

"Hey, kid, are you ok? What happened here?" He looked at Mikoto who didn't take his eyes off of Misaki. The second man seemed to be reading Mikoto, then moved closer to Misaki. "Come on, kid, let's get you inside," he said, taking Misaki's hand, which earned him a squeal of pain as Misaki shrunk away and hugged his left arm protectively.

"His shoulder is dislocated," Mikoto said, "and his arm might also be broken."

Misaki turned his head away from the men in front of him and sniffled, wiping his eyes and his nose on his sleeve.

"What is your name?" The blonde man asked.

His sniffled once again, and tried to draw enough air through his nose to allow him to speak. "Yata Misaki," his voice was extremely shaky as he spoke.

"Yata-san, I can't pull you out of here without hurting you, so you're going to have to get up on your own," the blonde man said again.

He looked terrified as he stared up at the man who was once more standing in front of him. These men were very intimidating to Misaki, though it was not because they looked scary. The only way Misaki could think to describe them was, well… cool. And he felt so terribly pathetic, huddled into a corner and crying in the rain. His father was right; he was weak. He felt the lump replace itself in his throat, and hid his face in the inside of his right arm once again.

Seconds later, Misaki felt a hand on his arm, and opened his eyes to find the blonde man kneeling in front of him once more. "Yata-san, it's going to fine. Whatever happened to you is over now. You're safe with us. Now come inside," he urged, offering his hand to the young teen. Misaki stared back at him for a few more seconds, then finally took his hand and allowed him to help him up. Shortly after he stood up however, the spinning in his head renewed, and he lost his balance, falling into the blonde man's arms.

"Whoa there," he said, stabilizing Misaki, finally lifting him off the ground as though he were a small child.

Misaki barely maintained his consciousness as the man carried him into the warmth of the bar, his head lulling against the man's chest. He was taken upstairs and into a bedroom where he was set down on a soft bed. "I'll be right back, Yata-san, I just have to go find some first aid supplies. Mikoto-san will stay here with you."

"Keep him awake," the blonde said to Mikoto before leaving the room.

Misaki heard the scraping sound of a chair on wood, and opened his eyes to see Mikoto sitting in a chair next to him.

"You need to stay awake," Mikoto said, his voice sounding slightly less bored than it had previously. "Izumo is going to fix that shoulder for you and patch you up, so just keep your eyes open."

Misaki did as he was told, forcing his eyes open and setting them on the ceiling above him. The tears had stopped, but the pain remained, both physically and emotionally.

"Do you know who did this to you?" Mikoto asked, crossing his right ankle over his left knee.

Misaki glanced briefly at the man beside him, but did not respond; he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Was it your parents?" Mikoto asked.

This caught Misaki completely off guard, and he jolted his head back to the side, and looked straight into Mikoto's eyes. How did he know?

There was no denying it now; Mikoto had already seen the distress in his eyes when he'd mentioned it. "My father," he admitted quietly.

"My father hit me when I was a kid too," Mikoto said. This time it was his turn to avert his gaze. "It doesn't mean that you're weak."

Once again, his words shocked Misaki, and he stared at him questioningly.

Mikoto did not make eye contact, but continued, "Even the strongest person alive feels pain. But upon healing, we grow stronger. It isn't the events that befall us or the people who hurt us that _define_ who we are; it's how we survive. Remember that."

"I found some stuff," the blonde man, that Misaki now knew to be Izumo, returned to the room and stared at the scene in front of him. "Wow, you look much more alive," he said.

"I'll let you take over," Mikoto said, vacating the seat beside the bed. "Take care of him."

Misaki watched through the door long after Mikoto left, his words still ringing through his head.

_It isn't the events that befall us or the people who hurt us that define who we are; it's how we survive._

* * *

Misaki's injuries totaled a dislocated shoulder, at least two broken ribs, a large gash above his blackened right eye, a deep cut in the back of his right hand, and a moderate head injury. When he awoke the next morning, the pain returned to him tenfold compared to what it had been last night. As he sat up, a sharp pain ripped through his left arm, and a quick intake of breath through clenched teeth elicited a loud hiss from the redhead.

"Are you alright?"

Misaki glanced up quickly, having not realized that he was not alone. A boy who looked about his own age sat in a chair about ten feet from his bed, looking up from his tablet. Misaki nervously grasped his blankets tighter, but upon further investigation of the boy, he saw that the brunette looked about as nervous as he felt. Letting his guard down slightly, he examined the boy to find that he was very lanky and had a small build, dark brown hair and blue eyes framed with black, square rimmed glasses. He wore dark blue jeans and a black long sleeved sweater. He did not portray the same impression of poise and assurance that the two men he'd met last night did.

He glanced down at his bandaged hand and his left arm held in a sling momentarily before the realization of last night hit him once more. His mind began to spiral downward, but he forcefully stopped it. He'd already fallen apart in front of two people here; he was not about to let it happen a third time. He wrapped his good arm around his left tricep and looked up at the brunette once more.

"You okay?" He repeated.

"I'm fine. Who are you?" Misaki asked, perhaps a little more rudely than intended.

"Fushimi Saruhiko," he replied, sounding rather anxious. "You're Yata Misaki, or so I was told."

"Mm," Misaki nodded in agreement. "What happened to those other guys from last night?"

"You mean Kusanagi-san and Mikoto-san? They're downstairs working. As the newest member of this clan, I've been given the responsibility of keeping an eye on you."

"With all due respect, Fushimi-san, I don't need to be babysat," Misaki said crudely.

"You misunderstand me," Saruhiko smiled as though he'd regained his confidence, "while its true, I'm to make sure you're ok, the main reason I'm here is to ensure that you don't leave this room. You don't know where you are, do you?"

Misaki didn't respond; he simply stared at Saruhiko. It was true; he didn't have a clue. He vaguely remembered being taken through a bar last night, but that was all he knew.

"HOMRA, also known as the Red Clan is an infamous organization and the most feared 'gang' in Shizume City. We are lead by none other than the Red King, Mikoto Suoh. Mikoto-san found you outside last night and took pity on you, but this our headquarters and he's not about to let a non-member, furthermore a kid, go running around on his own."

Misaki listened quietly, taking in Saruhiko's words. Come to think of it, he _had_ heard of HOMRA before, though he'd never thought much of them. There was one thing that didn't make sense to him though.

"So if this is a gang, why did Mikoto-san bother with me at all? And why didn't he just dump me off at a hospital or something?"

Saruhiko looked puzzled, but another voice answered for him.

"Because Mikoto is a man with a big heart," Izumo said, entering the room with a tray in his hands. "He sympathized with your situation. He's going to offer you a place with us. Besides, Fushimi-kun here needs a partner." Izumo smiled and winked at Saruhiko.

Saruhiko looked up at Izumo with a surprised expression at this.

He placed the tray down on Misaki's night table. It held a bowl of soup and a large glass of water. "How are you feeling, Yata-kun?"

"Why are you guys taking care of me like I'm your patient if you're a gang?" Misaki demanded.

"The king has his reasons," Izumo said, brushing off Misaki's abrupt manner. "Good, your hand finally stopped bleeding. It continued to bleed last night even after I stitched it up," he said, picking up Misaki's right hand, only to have it snatched out of his grasp. "At any rate," he smiled, "you seem more lively today. You should try to eat."

Misaki studied him carefully, as though his suspicion, which had been completely absent last night, had finally kicked in.

Izumo smiled at him, "we're not going to hurt you, Yata-kun. If we had planned on harming you we would have done it last night when you were most vulnerable. Did Fushimi-kun tell you about us?"

Misaki glanced over at Saruhiko, then back to Izumo and nodded. While he was nervous at the idea of the HOMRA 'gang', the three people he'd actually spoken to seemed kind and sincere. But still, he was aware of the reputation they carried.

"You don't need to worry. The reason we're so feared is because we band together like a family. If you mess with one of our members, you mess with all of us. Together we are stronger than any one person could ever be," Izumo explained. "Anyway, I need to get back down to the bar. I left Totsuka-kun in charge. Knowing Totsuka, he's probably giving away free liquor to anyone who asks!" And with that, the bartender left the room.

Misaki stared after him with a questioning glance, and then shifted it towards Saruhiko who openly laughed at the expression. He seemed much more at ease since Izumo's arrival.

Misaki sighed and leaned back against his pillows. "You guys are a strange bunch," he said quietly, but not particularly harshly. As he hit the pillows, the pain in his shoulder flared up once again, and he bit his lower lip to keep from crying out. Any sort of movement amplified the pain beyond reason. He took in deep breaths of air, which only renewed the pain in his ribs. He clenched his eyes shut and waited for the pain to subside.

Saruhiko watched him with a concerned expression. "Should I get Kusanagi-san?" He asked.

"No," Misaki said through clenched teeth. He forced his body to relax, and despite the pain it caused, he took long, slow, deep breaths as the sharp pain was replaced with a dull ache. He hugged himself with his good arm and closed his eyes, knowing how pathetic he must look, and silently cursing himself for it. Why couldn't Saruhiko just leave him alone? He cracked one eye open to look at his caretaker, and seeing the sympathetic, pitiful look on his face made Misaki's stomach churn. Pity made him sick. He felt as though he was being looked down upon. What made it worse was that this boy was his own age, and if he did agree to join HOMRA, would potentially be his partner. He was off to a great start…

Misaki closed his eyes once more and did his best to hide the pain he was in. The sound of the chair sliding against the hardwood floor told him that it hadn't worked, and he opened his eyes to find Saruhiko moving his chair to the bedside. Misaki looked away grumpily.

"Here," Saruhiko said. Misaki found the glass of water held annoyingly close to his nose. He grabbed at it as quickly as possible without spilling it and took a large gulp from it. While it made his bruised stomach hurt, the cool water running down his throat was very soothing. Saruhiko held out his hand to take the glass from him. Misaki scowled, but handed him the glass.

"Are you okay?"

Misaki stared at Saruhiko momentarily before yelling, "I'm fine! Will you stop asking me that!?" But even the yelling caused his head to hurt, and Saruhiko saw it.

"Fine, relax," Saruhiko said, sounding annoyed.

"And quit looking at me like I'm dying," he said, a little more calmly.

Saruhiko looked away, slightly embarrassed. Mikoto also looked away, distracting himself with the bandage on his hand.

"Fine, but you have to quit getting so worked up," Saruhiko said, obviously trying to mask the concern in his words.

"Fine," Misaki agreed.

"And you have to eat something."

"Fine! If I could reach it I would have eaten it already," Misaki said stubbornly.

Saruhiko laughed a little, causing Misaki to flush with anger. He lifted the tray over Misaki's legs and settled it in his lap.

"So are you thinking of joining?" Saruhiko asked.

Misaki paused and nearly dumped his soup into his lap. "What?" he asked, looking surprised.

"Well you heard what Kusanagi-san said. Mikoto-san is going to ask you to join."

"Is it really that easy? Can anyone just join?" Misaki asked, unable to hide his curiosity any longer.

"Well Mikoto-san has to okay it first, and then you have to… pass a sort of test I guess you could say," Saruhiko said, looking as though he thought he'd said too much.

"What?!" Misaki demanded.

Saruhiko turned away, "I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to tell you."

As he turned, Misaki caught sight of what looked like a tattoo barely concealed by his black sweater. Saruhiko noticed this, and pulled the sweater aside to reveal a red and black tattoo just below his collarbone. "This is our insignia," he explained "all our members bear it somewhere on their body. Partners have it in the same spot," he added.

"And I would be your partner?" Misaki asked as casually as he could.

"I don't know. That's for Mikoto-san to decide. But Kusanagi-san is close with Mikoto-san, closer than anyone else, so if he says it then it's probably true."

"And what if I don't want to be your partner? What if I don't want a partner at all?" Misaki asked tactlessly.

Saruhiko smiled and looked away from Misaki. "You're hopeless, Yata-chan."

"Don't call me that!" Misaki demanded.

"How about… Misaki-chan?" He laughed.

"Don't ever call me by my first name," Misaki said seriously. Not only did he hate his first name, but his mother, who he would never speak to again, was the only person who ever called him by it.

Saruhiko realized he'd hit a nerve. "Sorry," he said. "Yata-kun, is that alright?"

"Fine," Misaki scoffed.

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2: Bond

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait on this! This is part 2 of what I anticipate to be 4. I will mention that this chapter does contain mature content. Anyway, enjoy!

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**********November 30, 2009**********

"Does it hurt?" Saruhiko asked as Misaki admired the new mark below his collarbone in the mirror. He had done it; he'd shaken hands with Mikoto with his right hand engulfed with his Aura. He'd been accepted into the Red Clan, and no sooner had the HOMRA insignia appeared on his chest, indicating that he and Saruhiko were now bonded as partners.

"Nope," Misaki lied. It did sting a bit, since it was after all, a burn. But he wasn't about to admit it.

He had decided after his first day that he would no longer allow anyone else to see his pain, whether physical or emotional. He was part of HOMRA now, and if it was to be accepted, he needed to be strong. Part of that strength would be leaving his past behind. During his second night here, he had cried himself to sleep. He felt the sting of his mother's words and her abandonment. He'd woken up and concluded that he couldn't worry about it anymore, and he did everything in his power to lock it deep away inside himself, far from prying eyes and out of mind. It was done, over, and time to leave it where it belonged: in the past. His new life had begun the moment Mikoto had congratulated him on becoming a member of HOMRA. He would not let these people realize the old Misaki, the weak Misaki. He was a new person now; he had to be.

He stared at his appearance in the mirror. His black eye had nearly receded, and the cut had healed significantly. He glared into his own eyes and willed every ounce of pain displayed to disappear. Even if it were there, he would never again show it. This was the way it had to be. He could not be the weak little kid again if he ever hoped to find a place to belong. Nobody wanted anything to do with a frail, pathetic child.

"What's up?" Saruhiko asked as he continued to stare into the mirror.

"Nothing, let's go downstairs," he said boldly. Taking one last excited peek at his insignia.

"Yata-chan, where's your sling?" Izumo questioned as the pair entered the bar.

"I ditched it," he said, hopping up onto one of the bar stools. Saruhiko shook his head at his new partner. "It's funny that you guys worry so much," Misaki said, brushing Izumo off.

"You know what's not funny? Shoulder instability, Yata-kun. You want to be part of this group and play with the big boys, you need to learn how to take care of yourself, now go get it." Izumo ordered, igniting his Aura from his left hand.

Misaki decided that he was not to be tested, since Mikoto had recently put a hole in one of the bedroom walls. He had learned quite quickly that Izumo was very protective of this place, and any sort of destruction to it made him angrier than a pack of bulls in a red room. "Fine, fine," he muttered, jumping down from his stool and heading back upstairs.

It had already been five days since the injury had occurred, and besides, he wanted to display his new insignia below is collarbone. He wrapped the sling around his neck and for good measure, pulled his sweater over his head and let his left sleeve hanging empty. He would not appear weak.

"No need to show off, Yata-chan, we've all got it," Izumo said to the red head as he returned to the bar with a scowl on his face.

"Quit calling me that," Misaki protested, slamming his fist into the bar top.

"But you're oh-so-adorable with that unhinged attitude of yours. And don't hit my bar! It was imported –"

"I know, all the way from England. I'm sorry, alright?"

Saruhiko was chuckling beside him.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Yata-chan, you know part of what we do here is fighting." Izumo continued on the subject.

"I know! I put the stupid sling on, what else do you want?" He yelled irritably.

"What I meant was that you need to look after yourself in general, for example eating more," Izumo said, grinning. He picked up two plates, each containing a massive burger and fries and put them in front of the two teens. "You two Fushimi-kun. You disappear from view when you turn sideways."

Saruhiko clicked his tongue and turned his head away, sighing.

"Take it easy on them, Kusanagi-san, they're still kids," Totsuka said with his usual kind smile.

"Who are you calling kids," Misaki shot back.

"Hey now, Totsuka-kun is standing up for you! Calm yourself, Yata-chan," Izumo said.

Misaki glared at Izumo, but gave up, and as his expression returned to neutral, he picked up his burger and began stuffing his face.

**********December 29, 2009**********

Misaki awoke early that morning, much earlier than he would have liked. Light poured in through the blinds, and after glancing at the time, which read 7:37, he rolled onto his left side to face the wall, only to be greeted by a dull ache in his shoulder. Silently cursing the aging injury, he rolled back onto his back, laying his right forearm across his eyes to block the light. He glanced to his right to ensure that Saruhiko was still sound asleep in the bed across the room before massaging his shoulder in attempt to ease the discomfort. Izumo was probably right, he did need to be more wary of it. But that meant admitting he was weak, even to himself.

Moments later, his full bladder lured him out of bed and he headed for the washroom, knowing that if he didn't get up now, there was no way he'd get back to sleep. The halls were completely dark, and upon returning to his room, he found it to be very bright. How annoying.

He shut the door quietly, and glanced down at Saruhiko to ensure he was still asleep. He looked quite different without his glasses, or perhaps it was the fact that his hair, which usually hung into his eyes, was pulled off of his forehead. Then he noticed something worthy of much greater concern. It took him a second to realize what he was seeing, but as he comprehended it, he stared dumbfounded, grateful that Saruhiko was asleep. His friend's left wrist was covered with angry red cuts, some scabbed, and some rather fresh looking. The sight made him sick to his stomach, and he now realized why Saruhiko always wore wristbands or long sleeved shirts.

Misaki climbed back into his bed, and despite the throbbing in his shoulder, rolled onto it and stared straight at the wall. He had heard of self-injury before, but never witnessed it first hand and he definitely did not understand it. He realized then that despite Saruhiko's initial concern for him, he had never asked his partner about himself, granted they had only known each other for a short time.

But why would he want to hurt himself? Why would anyone do such a thing? It seemed so stupid to him.

But there was so much he didn't understand…

**********October 18th 2010**********

"Mikoto-san, can I try a cigarette?" Misaki asked bravely after watching in awe as Mikoto lit his cigarette with his Aura. He had seen his King do it a thousand times, but it just looked so damn cool on the man. He wanted to try it himself.

"No you may not, Yata-chan," Izumo said, butting in. "Mikoto, you shouldn't smoke around the kids. Not only are you a bad influence on them, but second hand smoke kills."

Misaki watched Izumo with extreme contempt. It wasn't very often that Misaki got to talk alone with Mikoto, and here Izumo was, ruining it for him.

"Fine, I'll go outside," Mikoto said, getting up off his stool.

"I don't mind!" Misaki insisted, silently pleading with Mikoto to stay.

"Uh?" Anna said quietly from across the room. Everyone fell silent to watch her. She was obviously seeing something. "He's in trouble," she said indecisively.

"Who is it, Anna?" Izumo asked.

But Misaki knew; there was only one person not present in the bar at the moment.

"Saruhiko!" Misaki yelled, dumping his stool on the ground.

"Mm," Anna confirmed.

"Where?" Misaki demanded.

She closed her eyes, deep in thought.

"COME ON!" He commanded.

"Relax, Yata-chan," Izumo said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"We don't have all day!"

"Will you shut up!?" Izumo yelled at Misaki, his eyes still on Anna.

"Quiet, both of you," Mikoto said calmly, silencing the room. Misaki stared dumbfounded, but obeyed.

"The old warehouse," she finally said.

Misaki lead the way on his skateboard, closely followed by Izumo, Mikoto, Chitose, Fujishima, Kamamoto, and Bando as he wound through the side streets. His position as HOMRA's vanguard had made him an expert at seeking out the enemy; it had become second nature to him. But this time was different. His heart raced. What had Saruhiko done? And why hadn't he called? Had he gone out to accomplish a mission alone? Or had he been ambushed? Why would anyone want to hurt Saruhiko? He didn't have any enemies, at least not to Misaki's knowledge.

As they approached the door to the warehouse, Misaki could hear voices coming from inside.

"Shh," he said, hushing his comrades as they followed behind him. He pressed his body against the wall. The door was open, and he moved closer to hear what was going on.

"You really did a number on him. What should we do with him?" The voice sounded young but raspy.

"Should we leave him here?" A second, older sounding man asked.

"Nah, we should dump him on HOMRA's doorstep in the middle of the night. Teach them to mess with us," A third man said, laughing.

Misaki's blood seethed with anger. There were at least three of them, and they all sounded like adults. How dare they attack Saruhiko with those odds; he was just a kid, after all.

"We should take him back with us and keep him as a prisoner, ordering HOMRA to disband. We could cut off his fingers and mail them to them each week they don't obey," a fourth, more sadistic sounding man said.

"We'd be screwed if they found us. I don't mind taking them down one at a time, but together they're a scary bunch. Especially that Mikoto guy."

"Maybe we should just kill him then. It will get the point across."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"But where's the fun in that?" The sadistic man asked callously.

"Shut up. Let's just kill him and dump the body," the oldest sounding man said.

"LIKE HELL!" Misaki yelled, wailing the door open and throwing himself at the closest man. The others were close behind him, and soon the warehouse was ignited with red.

"Be careful! These look like gun powder barrels!" Izumo cried. "Misaki, find Fushimi!"

"Right," Misaki said, but he wasn't about to let the bastards who did this off that easily. He launched his ignited baseball bat straight at the youngest looking man, nailing him in the back of the head as he tried to make his escape. He found Fushimi lying on his stomach on the ground.

As he knelt down, he felt something warm and sticky on his knees and quickly concluded that it was blood. He grasped his friend's shoulder and rolled him over into his lap. He gasped at what he saw and felt his stomach turn. Saruhiko's glasses were broken and both of his eyes were swollen and blackened. His right eye looked as though it had shards of glass in it and was bleeding along with his nose, his lip and his temple. Misaki looked down his body and saw blood seeping from his midsection. He looked as though he had been stabbed at least twice. Instinctively, Misaki placed his fingers on Saruhiko's neck to check for a pulse, and held his ear over his friend's face. He was relieved to hear shallow breathing.

"KUSANAGI-SAN!" Misaki bellowed.

"A little busy, Yata-chan," he replied, knocking a man out with an elbow to the face. There were more men present now, but the Red Clan seemed to have things under control.

"Saru!" He cried, hoping to wake his friend up. There was no response.

Mikoto looked over to where Misaki was holding his friend, close to tears. He looped his arm in a circle around his head, and the men in the warehouse all came crashing to the ground, defeated.

"You could have tried that a little sooner, Mikoto," Izumo said. "How's Fushimi?"

"He's breathing, but he won't wake up," Yata said frantically. "I think he's been stabbed."

Izumo and Mikoto kneeled beside Misaki, then the pair exchanged glances, and Izumo nodded.

"Go back to the bar, Yata-chan," he said, lifting Saruhiko easily off the ground.

"What! No I –"

But a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he turned to see Mikoto standing over him. "This will look suspicious enough. Our clan can't simply gather in the waiting room at the hospital. Izumo will take care of him."

Misaki looked up at Mikoto, and simply nodded. If anyone else had told him he couldn't go with Saruhiko, he would have lost it. But being that it was Mikoto, he obediently followed his King back to their headquarters. Totsuka had been left in charge of the bar, and was half way through his lively greeting when he saw the looks on their faces.

Misaki took a seat towards the end of the bar and rested his head on his folded arms in front of him. He would not break down and he would not cry. His clan knew he was worried, but that was as far as he would allow it to go. With a practiced hardened expression, he stared straight ahead of him, glaring at his reflection in the mirror behind the stack of wine glasses. He should never have let Saruhiko leave alone that morning. If only he had gone with him.

He looked up as someone took the seat next to him, and realized it was Mikoto. Something about being in this man's presence puzzled him. He felt relaxed and yet anxious at the same time. It made him nervous, but in a totally different way. Perhaps he felt safe around him. No, it was more than that, but Misaki couldn't quite put his finger on it. He stared in amazement and awe at every word that escaped Mikoto's mouth. He admired him deeply, and perhaps it was that he wanted nothing more than to be like him. His aura of self-confidence radiated like no other. He wished more than anything that he could be that strong. He knew after all, it was his strength that ultimately defined him. Mikoto had said it himself.

"He'll be ok," Mikoto said simply.

"Yeah, stupid Saru," Misaki said brashly.

Mikoto turned his head quickly, but then looked away. It was though he had set out to say something, but then thought better of it. Likely because he knew the state of mind that Misaki was in.

"Totsuka, can I have a drink?" Mikoto asked the replacement bartender.

"Sure, what'll it be? You know I don't mix as well as Kusanagi-san," he smiled, but managed to keep his manner serious.

"Shots. You can't screw those up."

"Sure."

Misaki watched with his head in his arms as Totsuka poured 3 shots of brown liquid. He was surprised when Mikoto slid one to him, picked up his own, and held it out to him.

"What?" Misaki said, lifting his head and staring at the shot in confusion.

"Cheers," Mikoto said.

Misaki continued to stare at Mikoto, who only waited seconds before downing the shot on his own. He picked up the second one and again held it out to Misaki, who caught on this time. He tapped the small glass against Mikoto's, and raised it to his lips and swallowed like he'd seen the older members do so many times. The liquid burned his mouth and throat and wasn't even remotely appealing. He realized that the expression on his face probably said it all. But as the burning continued, the pain lessened, and the pressure in his head loosened.

"Here," Totsuka said, placing a glass in front of him and filling it with Cola from the hose. "Giving the kid tequila shots," he muttered, shaking his head.

Misaki drank from the glass, chasing the awful tasting liquid down. The burning decreased, but the feeling in his head swelled. He lay his head back down in his arms and glanced forward again. The thrill of the shot was gone, and the reality of the situation returned. He turned his head away from Mikoto and Totsuka, staring out the window and wondering how long it would be till Izumo returned.

Second later, Totsuka piped up. "Ahhh Mikoto! You're hopeless! Fine!" He turned away and poured two more shots, placing them in front of Mikoto. "But if Izumo finds out, it's your problem, not mine." Even when angry, Totsuka still seemed so kind and gentle. It was a mark that he alone possessed among the HOMRA members. Mikoto slid one of the shots to Misaki and held his out again.

"What are we toasting to?" Misaki asked. It didn't seem appropriate, despite the fact that he wanted the shot.

"Fushimi's safe return," Mikoto said boringly.

Misaki forced a half smile, then tapped the glass against Mikoto's once more and poured the shot down his throat. The burning ensued again, though with the expectation and anticipation, it wasn't nearly as painful, and he welcomed the fiery drink. He put the glass down and let out a deep sigh as though he'd been holding it in for days.

"Relax," Mikoto said, placing a hand on Misaki's shoulder. He remained there only briefly before getting up and taking his seat on his usual couch where Anna quickly joined him.

"Anna, you should be in bed," Totsuka said.

"Not until Kusanagi-san returns," she insisted.

"I'm not sure when that'll be…" Totsuka replied, giving her a sympathetic smile.

"Then I'm staying up!" She said defiantly.

"So am I," Misaki grunted, his head now feeling slightly fuzzy from the alcohol.

Totsuka sighed, "I guess I better make a pot of coffee."

The sky had just begun to turn an indigo blue when the lock finally clicked at the front door. Misaki, who had been dozing with his head on the bar sat bolt upright and jumped off of his seat. He was relieved when he saw two silhouettes instead of just one, but Totsuka beat him to the door to help Izumo get Saruhiko to the couch, which Mikoto quickly lifted a sleeping Anna off of. Misaki stared wide-eyed at his friend as he was lifted onto the couch. He looked absolutely terrible.

Both his eyes were black and swollen almost shut and he had a bandage wrapped around his head holding a large piece of gauze to his right temple, making a mess of his normally pristine dark hair. Though he wore a long sleeved shirt, Misaki could see bandages extending down his right arm and also wrapped around his abdomen. Finally, his right leg was held in a long leg brace covering most of the limb, which he assumed meant it was broken.

"Fushimi-kun, are you alright?" Totsuka asked, tucking a pillow under Saruhiko's head.

"Mmmm," Saruhiko mumbled incoherently.

"He's in pretty rough shape right now, but he escaped what could have much more serious injury," Izumo said, pulling a blanket over Saruhiko's body. "Broken leg, four stab wounds, two to the abdomen and two to the right arm, and a pretty severe concussion. None of the stab wounds hit vital organs, but the one to his shoulder could be potentially problematic. He's got lots of cuts and bruises. I'm surprised they let him leave so quickly." Izumo made eye contact with Mikoto and held his glance for a moment. They always seemed to know what the other was thinking.

Misaki knelt down on the floor at his friend's side, scared stiff. He had no idea what to do or how to treat Saruhiko. He settled for just watching the rise and fall of his chest.

"Have you guys been up all this time?" Izumo asked.

"Yep," Totsuka said, smiling. He leaned over and pulled the blanket up to Saruhiko's chin and tucked him in like a child. "You should get some sleep, Kusanagi-san."

"So should you. We all should," Izumo said. "I'm going to let Fushimi sleep here since I don't want to drag him up the stairs."

"I don't mind staying up to watch him," Totsuka offered.

"I'll sleep down here," Misaki cut in. "I can sleep on the floor."

Izumo exchanged worried glances with Totsuka, but finally agreed.

Misaki darted upstairs and dragged all of his bedding downstairs and laid it out on a mat that Izumo had set down for him. All of the others had gone upstairs.

"Here, I'll leave these with you for now," Izumo said, handing Misaki a bottle of pills. "If he wakes up in the next little while, have him take one."

"Are you hungry? Can I get you anything, Yata-chan?"

"No thanks," he said quietly. He had no appetite whatsoever.

"There's a pitcher of water on the bar. You know where to find everything else. Come wake me if you need me."

"Thanks," he said. He realized he probably should have been more grateful, but he was too worried to think straight.

"Goodnight," Izumo said, heading towards the stairs.

"Night," Misaki mumbled.

Izumo turned the light off as he left, but there was enough light now drifting in from outside for Misaki to see outlines around the room, and as his vision began to adjust, he could see quite well. As the shifting around upstairs ceased, he could hear only the sound of Saruhiko's pained breathing.

"Misaki?" A weak voice whispered.

"Saru? Are you awake?" He whispered.

"Ye-ah," he said faintly.

"How do you feel?" He sat up and looked at his friend.

"Kind of… like I… got hit… by a bus," he said painfully but good naturedly. His words were accompanied with sharp gasps and an unsteady breathing pattern.

"Kusanagi-san gave me these pills for you, do you want one?" Misaki offered.

"No," he said stubbornly. Even the one simple word sounded very forced. Misaki wasn't sure what to do. He hated the feeling of weakness, but it made this even harder to witness.

"Did I wake you up? I'm sorry."

"No… I was awake… the whole time. Didn't want… to talk… to anyone."

"You sound awful Saru," Misaki said nervously. "You shouldn't be talking."

"I'm… ok," he said, but the last word came out very painfully, and Misaki's heart wrenched for his friend.

"No you're not," he finally burst out. "You need to rest. Now quit talking."

"Misaki…"

"And don't call me that!" He said, frustrated. He wasn't angry with his friend; he was upset because he could hardly bear to see him like this, knowing that he couldn't do anything for him.

Misaki could see Saruhiko's face in the dark, and noted that he wore his old mischievous grin that was usually present on his face while hassling his partner. Misaki let out a soft, relieved sigh. It was still Saru.

"My glasses…" Saruhiko muttered.

"They're broken, Saru," Misaki said regrettably.

"I thought so," he said quietly.

As far as Misaki knew, Saruhiko couldn't see well at all without them. He always went straight for them the minute he woke up.

"We can get you new ones," Misaki said in a comforting manner.

"I have… another pair… upstairs," he said. His voice was so frail. It was difficult to listen to.

"Where? I'll go get them," Misaki offered.

"In my… top drawer. Wait – "

"It's fine," Misaki cut him off, jumping off the ground and running up the stairs. Part of him wanted to get as far from Saruhiko as he possibly could, but the rest of him knew he couldn't leave him alone. It was so hard to see him like this.

He turned the light on in their room and opened Saruhiko's top drawer. He had to shift around some clothing before he found the black glasses case. Under the case he noticed something else of interest. A small white box sat on the very bottom of the drawer and Misaki battled the urge to open it. What caught his attention further however, was the smear of red on the side of the box. It looked like blood. A part of him knew what this box held before he even opened it. A silver bloodstained razor blade sat atop a pile of white tissue. Misaki sighed, closing the box. He was reminded of the morning he had first seen the cuts on Saruhiko's arm. He hadn't thought about it much since then, but he couldn't help feeling curious about it now. Was he still doing it? Had he been doing it since then? When had it started? And most of all, why?

But he knew that tonight was not the night.

He laid the clothing back over the box so it appeared as it had before he'd disturbed it, then closed the drawer and turned the light off. He hurried back down the stairs and sat on his makeshift bed.

"Here," he said, taking the glasses out of their case and holding them out to his friend.

"Thanks," Saruhiko said, pushing them up his nose with his left hand. His eyes were so swollen that Misaki doubted that he could see much anyway.

Misaki simply watched his friend's pained expression. He wanted to ask him so many questions right now. He wanted to tell him he was an idiot for leaving the bar alone. He wanted to destroy the people who had hurt him. And yet, he wanted to comfort Saru, but he had no idea how. He wanted to take all the pain away. He'd never felt so close to someone before, and so he'd never cared enough to have these feelings. He'd never known much in the way of sympathy, and so far, he hated it. He felt his chest tighten anxiously.

"Misaki… quit worrying… so much… It doesn't… suit you," Saruhiko said, forcing each word out.

Misaki stared for a moment longer, and then turned away. "You're an idiot, you know that?" He said rudely.

"That's more… like it…" Saru said, smiling.

"Here, take this and go to sleep," Misaki ordered, forcing open the childproof lock on the bottle and putting one of the pills in Saruhiko's hand. "And quit looking at me like that. Give me those!" Misaki pulled Saruhiko's glasses off before he could do anything about it. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

Saruhiko took the pill as ordered, but continued to grin at Misaki until his eyes closed. Misaki watched his breathing pattern even out and concluded that he was asleep.

_Stupid Saru_, he thought to himself as he lay down and pulled his blankets over his shoulders. He kept himself awake listening to Saruhiko's breathing. It was a constant reminder that his best friend was still with him, and he desperately needed it right now. He hadn't realized just how close they were and how much he needed him until he'd almost lost him. He was the first real friend that he had ever had, and the first person he'd ever really trusted. He wasn't sure where he would have been without him.

**********October 21, 2010**********

It was two days before Saruhiko fully regained consciousness again. It turned out the analgesic he was given was unprecedentedly strong. Izumo kept the bar closed under the pretense of renovations, but the members of HOMRA knew it was solely for their benefit. Nobody had slept much the day after the warehouse raid, and Saruhiko was still confined to the couch for the most part. Misaki hadn't left Saruhiko's side and had literally worried himself sick, though he refused to admit just how worried he really was. He was coughing and sniffling ceaselessly, and despite Izumo's insistence that he would make Saruhiko sick as well, he stubbornly refused to relocate, and continued to lie on the floor next to his box of tissues and bottle of expired cough syrup.

"I'm running out to the store," Izumo informed him, pulling his jacket on and wedging a cigarette between his lips, "want anything?"

"No," he grumbled, rolling over to face away from Izumo.

"K well, no one else is here so call me if you need anything."

Misaki simply grunted, impatiently awaiting Izumo's departure. He was extremely irritable in his ill state, and simply wanted to be left alone. He heard the lock on the door click and sighed to himself. The quiet, only interrupted by Saruhiko's ragged breathing, was soothing. Lying down however, only made his nose feel more congested. He tried lying on his back, on his side, even on his stomach, but nothing helped. Frustrated, he sat up and blew his nose, tossing the tissue onto the mountain beside him.

"Not feeling so hot, Misaki?"

The voice came from above him.

"Saru?" He exclaimed, turning to face his friend. His eyes were no longer swollen, but they remained very blackened. The stillness of his friend's body bothered him, as obviously Saruhiko was taking great care not to move. His stomach wrenched for his partner.

"Hey," he said, still sounding very weak, but his sentences weren't painfully broken anymore.

"Why are you awake? You've been out of it for two days!"

"I assume because someone forgot my afternoon dose of meds," he smiled.

Misaki realized he was right. He was supposed to wake Saruhiko and have him take the drugs over two hours ago. He leaned over and dug out the bottle from beneath his pillow.

"Here, I better not touch it. You don't want this cold."

"I'm ok for now, as long as I don't move. I don't wanna be stoned again just yet."

"…ok then," Misaki said worriedly. "You ok? Kusanagi-san just left, but he'll make something for dinner later."

"Quit worrying so much, Misaki," Saruhiko teased.

"Stop calling me that." He said, but there wasn't much fight left in him. He was utterly exhausted. He hadn't slept much, and this cold was definitely getting the better of him. "Saru, what happened to you?" He'd wanted to ask him that since he returned from the hospital, but he didn't have it in him the first night, and he'd been essentially unconscious since then.

Saruhiko was silent. Perhaps he didn't remember. "I'm not really sure," he finally said. Misaki watched him, but Saruhiko averted his gaze and stared at the ceiling. "From what I remember, they grabbed me and dragged me in there. They knew I was with HOMRA for some reason. You saw the result of what happened after that."

"You don't know who they were?" Misaki asked curiously. He'd been wanting to ask for so long, yet now he was disappointed by the lack of answers, despite the fact that he had known Saruhiko might not have known anything.

"No," he said quietly. He sounded like the subject had killed his mood, not that Misaki blamed him for it.

"Can I ask you something else?" Misaki began.

"Uh, sure," Saruhiko said hesitantly. He seemed almost nervous, which was very unlike him. Misaki dismissed this and pressed on.

"What brought you to HOMRA?"

Saruhiko stared at Misaki, looking quite surprised. In the time they'd known each other, they had never discussed their pasts. Misaki had never even really thought about it. If he was completely honest with himself, Misaki never did much in the way of thinking until he was forced to, like now, for example. He had decided long ago that he would do what he could to distance himself from his feelings, because feelings made you a weak person.

"I didn't really have anywhere else to go," Saruhiko said, once again, looking away from Misaki.

Misaki stared at him. "Care to elaborate?" He said insensitively.

Saruhiko stared at Misaki in slight disbelief, like he was surprised that he was bringing this subject up now.

"Are you getting sentimental, Misaki?" Saruhiko said, smiling.

"Just answer the damn question," he replied impatiently.

"I grew up in an orphanage," Saruhiko finally said with a completely straight face.

"Really?" Misaki said, sniffling and reaching for a tissue.

"Come on, its not _that_ sad," Saruhiko teased.

"Shut up," he said, blowing his nose and adding to the pile. "So you left? Kusanagi-san didn't adopt you did he?"

"No," Saruhiko laughed. "I left the day I turned sixteen. Kusanagi-san saw me sitting on the same street corner day after day and invited me in. Mikoto was reluctant at first, but eventually he agreed to let me stay."

Misaki wasn't sure what to say. He was curious, but unprepared for the answer. How had he never asked this before? Sure, he'd been kicked out of his house, but Saruhiko had never had a real home.

"What about you? What really happened that night Kusanagi-san brought you in?" Saruhiko asked seriously.

"What? You don't know?" Misaki said, caught off guard. He assumed everyone knew.

"Mikoto-san forbade us from asking you questions about that night," Saruhiko said, a hint of dislike in his voice.

"Oh," Misaki said in disbelief. He never really thought about the fact that no one had asked him about that night, he just assumed that Mikoto had told everyone. He felt an overwhelming sense of respect for Mikoto beyond the admiration he already held for the man. He found himself smiling.

"So? Spill it!" Saruhiko said.

"I got in a fight with my dad. Then my mom threw me out," Misaki admitted. It felt weird hearing the words out of his own mouth for the first time. The last person he'd told was Mikoto, and he had more or less guessed what had happened.

"I see. What did you fight about?" Saruhiko asked.

"I don't know. Something stupid." It was Misaki's turn to look away. He felt uncomfortable talking about this. The discomfort didn't have anything to do with Saruhiko; he'd just never come out and told anyone like this before.

"Did you fight with him often?"

"You could say that," Misaki said, now twirling a loose thread from his blanket around his finger.

Saruhiko continued to stare at him, studying him knowingly. They were both silent for what felt like far too long for a normal conversation.

Finally Saruhiko spoke again. "What made you stay?"

"Do you really want to know?" Misaki asked with a now overwhelming urge to tell Saruhiko his reasons now that the topic of his parents was past.

Saruhiko stared at him questioningly.

"I wanted a fresh start somewhere I didn't have to feel so pathetic."

"Kind of contradictory considering the manner they found you in," Saruhiko blatantly pointed out.

"I know. And I still felt it at first, but I wanted to prove to everyone that I wasn't weak. I wanted to prove to myself that I was stronger than…" Misaki almost spoke of his parents again, but he decided against it.

"Than what?" Saruhiko asked.

"Than I looked," he said stupidly. Saruhiko's eyes lingered on him for a moment, but then looked away. Misaki was thankful that he didn't pursue.

"There's more though," Misaki said, feeling quite generous with his thoughts at the moment, beyond what he'd ever expected of himself. "I wanted somewhere –"

"You could belong?" Saruhiko cut in.

"Yeah," Misaki said, puzzled, looking Saruhiko in the eye.

"Me too," Saruhiko said.

They both smiled in an understanding manner. They had shared a bond since Misaki had arrived, but it was more than just an assigned partnership; it was a bond of friendship.

Misaki grinned to himself, but despite the warmth he felt in his gut at the moment, there was still something unsettling, and it was embodied in a little white box hidden in Saruhiko's top drawer.

"Well, you're here now, and you have people who care about you," Saruhiko said, rolling onto his back with a disgruntled cry.

Misaki was instantly distracted from his thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Saruhiko said. "Are you?" The two made eye contact.

"Yeah."

"Hey," Misaki began, feeling rather awkward; "you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

Saruhiko looked up at his friend. "Thanks, Misaki. You too."

Misaki's eyes glanced briefly over Saruhiko's left wrist, only to find that it was indeed covered. He wanted to bring it up so badly, but he didn't know how. Something in his chest sank as the lock clicked in the front door, and Izumo and Totsuka clambered inside, soaking wet. He'd missed his chance… again.

"It's disgusting out there!" Izumo exclaimed.

"Fushimi-kun, you're awake. How are you?" Totsuka asked, pulling his jacket off and hanging it over the back of the chair.

"I've been better," he said quietly. His voice had resumed its weak tone, and the expression on his face displayed his pain.

"Here kids, I come bearing provisions," Izumo said, dropping a paper bag into Misaki's lap. "And mom's making you guys soup," handing his other bag off to Totsuka who smiled at them.

"Am I now?" Totsuka laughed.

Misaki dug into the bag and found new cold medicine, over the counter painkillers, various sizes of bandages, and to his disbelief, chocolate bars. Was the man out of his mind? Did he think they were women or something? Nevertheless, he appreciated the act of kindness. He'd never felt so much like part of a family before. For the first time in what felt like forever, he knew everything would be ok.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review and let me know what you thought! Reviews encourage me to write faster ;)**


	3. Chapter 3: Betrayal

**A/N: Instalment 3 of 4!**

* * *

**********July 11th 2011**********

_87__th__ and West Broadway_

"Damn it, I have to go," Misaki said, standing up from the bar with his screen projected from his wristwatch.

"What for?" Izumo asked.

"No idea. He never tells me _what_ he wants, he just sends me a location and expects me to be there."

"You kids are hilarious. Have fun!"

Misaki grabbed his skateboard from under the couch and headed out the door. He stepped outside into the blazing sun, stretched his arms and let out a loud sigh. It was a beautiful day. He tugged his sweater over his head and tied it around his waist before setting off on his skateboard, taking advantage of every set of stairs, curb, or railing he encountered.

He pulled up the location on his wristwatch as he headed down West Broadway; he didn't actually know where 87th was. He spotted the street and realized it was no more than a narrow side alley. What was Saruhiko up to this time? Usually he messaged him with locations like this if he'd found something cool or he was planning something. If he needed help he generally added 'hurry' to the end. He grew curious as he slowed on his board, turning the corner to find Saruhiko leaning against the wall with his phone in his hand.

"Took you long enough," Saruhiko said, sounding strangely irritated.

"What are you talking about? That was quick! What the hell is so urgent?" Misaki demanded, flipping his skateboard up into his hand.

"I thought you should be the first to know. I joined SCEPTER 4."

"You what?!" Misaki said.

"You heard me," Saruhiko said simply, grinning.

Misaki stared wide-eyed at his best friend, his jaw nearly hitting the ground. This had to be some sort of sick joke.

"You're kidding, right?"

"I'm not," Saruhiko said, his smile growing larger than ever.

As Misaki watched Saruhiko, the reality of the situation began to take hold of him. "Why? Why would you join the Blues?"

"It's stupid really," Saruhiko said, raising his arms in a shrug and igniting his Aura from his right hand. "We have these special powers, yet all we do act like a bunch of gangsters."

"Mikoto-san took you in when you had no where else to go! He gave you something to live for!" Misaki was livid. He'd known betrayal all his life, but he'd never expected it from Saruhiko.

"Mikoto is as bad as the rest of you. He's just the ringleader, violent and uncontrolled. He's ready to snap at any time."

"Saruhiko!" Misaki growled. "How dare you!" He grabbed Saruhiko by the collar and slammed him into the wall. "HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!" His friend's smile didn't fade.

But he caught sight of Saruhiko's chest, coming face to face with his partner's HOMRA insignia. He released him and stared at the mark. "You have this engraved in your chest! This, a mark of our pride! Doesn't that mean anything to you?!"

"Pride hey?" Saruhiko said spitefully, "This is what I think of that pride." He ignited his Aura once more from his fingertips and dug his nails into his chest, grinning wildly. Misaki stepped back, watching, horrified, as Saruhiko clawed and burned at his insignia. "What do you think of that, Misaki?"

Misaki looked him in the eye, completely dumbfounded. The Saruhiko he'd known was nowhere to be found. All that was left was a sadistic, heartless, screwed up bastard. He seethed with anger, feeling his entire body ignite with his Aura. It was beyond his control. "Saruhiko, I swear to fucking God, if you go through with this, I will kill you."

"Challenge accepted, Misaki," Saruhiko responded, his eyes filled with malicious intent. "Wait and see what I'm going to become."

"You fucking traitor!"

Saruhiko's Red Aura ignited all around him, shielding him from view. It glowed red and hot for no more than a few seconds, and then it disappeared.

Misaki looked around as the smoke cleared. He was gone, and in more ways than one. He could feel the adrenaline rushing through his body. He was shaking with rage.

This couldn't be happening.

He fell to his knees and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know what to do. Should he return to the bar? He'd have to sooner or later, but he wasn't sure he could face the others right now. He leaned backward against the wall and stared up at the sky from between the buildings. This was really happening…

He remained there for what felt like hours, unsure of what was actually going through his mind. He felt so many emotions, emotions that he hated so dearly, run through his mind. It felt like the day he'd left his parents' home.

He sluggishly dragged himself up off the ground, feeling as though his body was no more than dead weight. He picked up his skateboard, and feeling absolutely no desire to ride it, he began walking. He tucked the board under his right arm and buried his balled-up fists in his pocket. He cursed the blazing sun as it blinded him when he turned onto the main street. He felt as though it was insulting him, shining so brightly while his world was coming to an end.

He could scarcely feel anything as he slowly made his way back to the bar. He had to keep reminding himself of what had happened, and each time, he felt more alone than the last. He had no idea what he was going to tell the others. How would he tell them that one of their own had betrayed them? He felt so humiliated. How could he have let this happen? A part him felt as though he should have killed Saruhiko on the spot. Isn't that what 'gangsters,' as Saruhiko had called them, did? He felt his insides twist with disgust as he pictured the expression on Saruhiko's face. He had never seen that side of him.

He slowed as he approached the bar. What on earth was he going to say? There was no way he could keep this to himself. They needed to know, and he needed to let it out. Perhaps he had already been there and told them himself? Or worse, he could be there now. He stopped in his tracks, not wanting to go any further.

It took him a couple of minutes to gather his courage, but knowing that he couldn't avoid it forever and he might as well get it over with, Misaki stepped through the front door. He cringed as the bell chimed, alerting his comrades to his presence, screaming for them to drill him with questions about the whereabouts of his best friend. After a quick glance around, noting that only Izumo and Totsuka we're present, he hung his head and waited.

"Ah, Yata-chan. I've got a job for you," Izumo began. It took him mere seconds to realize something was off. "Yata? What's wrong? Where's Saru?"

"Yata-kun?" Totsuka asked with a deep sense of concern laced with his words.

He realized he was just drawing more attention to himself by remaining silent.

"He's gone," Misaki finally said.

"What do you mean he's gone?" Izumo questioned.

"I mean he's fucking gone!" Misaki said angrily, dropping his skateboard next to the door. He couldn't hold it back. He looked up to see Totsuka and Izumo exchange confused glances. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat and continued. "He joined the Blues."

"He what?!" The pair said simultaneously.

"You heard me," Misaki said. "I'm going upstairs."

It was done. Yet the worst part about sharing the information with the others was that it made it all the more real. He couldn't wait to get away from them, but as soon as he entered his room, he wished he were still downstairs. In front of him lied countless memories with his friend – or rather, former friend.

He gently pulled the door shut, staring around the room. He didn't know what to do. The room felt like it was swathed in a sheet of ice; a chill radiated around the room like he'd never felt before. A vivid image of his first night in this room entered his mind. At the time he'd still been recovering from his injuries, and Saruhiko was taking care of him despite his protests. He stared at the scar on the back of his right hand, remembering how Saru had changed the bandages every night, treating him like a child. He'd hated the gesture at the time, but he felt like now he would give anything to relive those moments. Leaning against the door, he felt his strength evaporate on the spot, and he slid down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his head in his arms.

_I will _not_ cry,_ he told himself.

He clenched his eyes shut and used everything he had left to force the threatening lump from his throat. He would not cry for Saru; he didn't deserve it. He had been the one to walk away.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, causing him nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Yata-chan," Izumo's voice came from the other side of the door.

"What," he said quietly, hearing his voice crack slightly. He knew that he had just indicated to Izumo that he was not only sitting on the floor against the door, but likely made it sound as though he was crying. He considered it for a moment, but decided it was the least of his worries right now.

"May I come in?" Izumo asked politely, quieting his voice upon realizing that Misaki was in very close proximity.

"No," he said stubbornly, feeling like a little kid who had just stormed out of his mother's presence.

Izumo was silent for a moment, likely caught off guard. "Well, Totsuka is making dinner, you should come down and eat," Izumo said awkwardly.

"Mm," Misaki said indecisively, hoping that the older man would just leave him alone.

"If you want to talk, you know where to find us," Izumo said, footsteps following.

"Leave me alone," he said quietly to no one in particular.

_But you are alone_, a voice inside him said.

He hugged himself tighter, feeling the sting of abandonment all over again. He felt like he was in that alley again, hiding under a piece of cardboard for shelter, feeling more alone than imaginable. Again, he felt like his world was ending. Saruhiko had become such a huge part of his world. He had finally found something stable in life; someone he could rely on and call his best friend. He had had such a hard time in the beginning, after what had happened with his parents. It had taken him so long to open up and trust Saru, but in the end it happened. He let Saruhiko in, more than he'd ever let anyone in before.

And just like that, it was over. None of it meant anything anymore.

A familiar feeling entered his mind, one that hadn't plagued him since that night in the alley. What had he done wrong? Was this all of his own making? Again?

It wasn't long before his brain became too muddled to think, and he finally pulled himself out of the doorway and onto the edge of his bed. He found himself staring down at the palms of his hands for no particular reason, then slowly clenching them into fists. Though his head didn't clear, he began to feel an overwhelming sense of anger. He wasn't sure if he was angry with Saruhiko, himself, or just the situation in general, but he knew one thing for sure; there was a burning sense of rage running through his body. He felt his aura ignite all around him, and he stood up off of his bed and walked across the room, meeting his own reflection in the closet mirror. The first thing that caught his eye was the tattoo below his left collarbone, the symbol of his pride and his bond with Saruhiko.

_This is all your fault_.

He felt his heartbeat quicken and his breathing grow stronger. Staring at the pathetic person in front of him, he smashed his right fist into the mirror, shattering it into a thousand pieces. He yelled at the top of his lungs, and fell to the floor once more. Pain seared through his hand, but he welcomed it. It made him feel not only alive, but like he had control over something. It was of his own making. He felt his body convulsing and his breaths come out in an uneven, shaking manner.

The last time he had broken down like this was not long after he'd first arrived here. He was tormented by his mother's abandonment, and despite his best effort to hide, Saruhiko had found him and comforted him. This time was similar; he'd once again been abandoned, but this time, no one would be there to pick up the pieces for him. He was alone.

He lingered on his hands and knees, head dropped between arms, remaining resolute. _I will NOT_ _cry for you. _

**********July 18, 2011**********

"That's it, get up. Come on! Get up!"

Misaki was rudely awakened by Izumo who had barged into his room and was now turning on the light. He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow to evade the glaring lights.

"Get up. You've been locked in your room for a week straight. I don't know how you haven't starved to death. Ugh, it stinks in here. When was the last time you showered?" Izumo pulled up the blinds and opened the window. "This isn't healthy, you know that, right?"

"Go away," Misaki grunted, pulling his blankets over his head.

"No. Get out of bed and get in the shower. You're going to run some errands for me," Izumo said, pulling the blankets off Misaki's bed.

"Make me," he said, curling into a ball and facing the wall.

"Do you know what the term squatter means? It means you're living here rent-free, being fed and cared for. You broke my mirror last week and I overlooked it, but for my sake and yours, you're going to get out of this room for a while."

"No," he said stubbornly, pulling his pillow out from under his head and taking refuge under it.

"Yata Misaki, get up _right _now!" Izumo yelled, wrenching the pillow from his grasp and throwing it to the floor. "_Don't_ make me get Mikoto in here. He doesn't have time for your childish behavior."

"Fine!" Misaki yelled, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He didn't make eye contact with Izumo as he left the room and headed for the washroom.

"You've lost weight, Yata-chan," Izumo said a little more sympathetically.

"Thanks," Misaki sarcastically shot back.

"Get cleaned up and come downstairs."

"Whatever," the red head said, slamming the washroom door, locking it and turning on the shower. He leaned over the sink, purposely avoiding the mirror, taking deep breaths. It was true, he hadn't left his bedroom in over a week, nor had he eaten anything substantial. He felt extremely weak, this being the first time he'd stood up for more than a few seconds. His head spun, and he clenched the counter top tightly to keep himself stable. He knew Izumo was right. It _was _getting ridiculous, but he just couldn't face the others, nor the outside world. Unfortunately, Izumo had taken away his current method of dealing with things: hiding.

Feeling horribly unsteady, he carefully found his way to the bathtub and climbed in. Pulling the curtain shut, he sat on the floor of the tub, allowing the hot water to run over his body. It felt incredibly soothing.

After several days of mourning the loss of his partner and best friend, his mind had become cloudy, almost comfortably numb. That numb feeling helped him evade emotion all together. He didn't want to lose that numb feeling, because it was the only circumstance in which it didn't particularly hurt. Any chance of throwing his head off balance meant that he'd have to face the grim reality of what had happened again. He figured that if he could ignore it for long enough, it would eventually go away. And so he did his best to completely avoid feelings and emotions.

It took him about 30 minutes of sitting under the steady flow of hot water to gather the resolution to face the world again, not that he had a choice. As the water began to run cold, he shut it off and dragged himself up and out of the tub. He managed to remain standing long enough to dress himself and make his way downstairs.

He entered the room and headed straight for a barstool. Izumo, Totsuka and Anna were the only ones present. Misaki half wondered if Izumo had chosen this particular time to drag him out of bed since no one else was around. He was always subtly doing things like that. Deep down, Misaki knew his intentions were pure, and that he had his best interests at heart.

"Wow, you got him out of bed," Totsuka said to Izumo. "What did you say?"

"That I was sending Mikoto in," Izumo smiled, drying a wine glass and placing it on the shelf.

Totsuka took the empty barstool beside Misaki. "It was an empty threat, my friend. Mikoto isn't even here."

"Oh," Misaki said simply. He didn't have the energy to fight.

"Here," Izumo said, putting a plate with a sandwich in front of him.

Misaki was grateful. He'd been spared the embarrassment of having to ask. "Thanks," he muttered.

A week without eating had destroyed his appetite, not to mention the size of his stomach. He barely got through half of the sandwich before pushing the plate away and laying his head on the bar. He felt sick.

"Come on Yata-chan, even Anna can do better than that," Izumo commented, putting a glass of water beside him. He picked it up and downed it in seconds.

Misaki ignored him. "What is it that you want me to do?" He asked.

"Yata-kun, you're really pale," Totsuka said, leaning in to get a better look at his face.

He turned his head away. "Well?" He demanded.

"I was going to ask you to go pick up the new mirror. You can do it later though if you don't feel well," Izumo said, picking up a yellow carbon copy form off of the counter.

Misaki leaned over and snatched the paper from his hands. "Where is it?"

"About ten blocks east. It's not as big as the old one. You should be able to carry it without a problem."

Misaki jumped down off the stool. He grabbed his skateboard from where it was leaning against the wall next to the door and left the building. He still felt sick, not to mention weak, but he needed to get away from Izumo and Totsuka. Perhaps he'd feel more tolerant later.

He tossed his skateboard on the ground and ran it, hoping on. Pushing off with his right foot several times, he gathered speed and kicked up onto the curb. Despite the weakness he felt in his body, it was the most alive he'd felt in days. It felt good to be out of bed and back on his skateboard.

He grinned to himself; Izumo always knew.

When he arrived at the shop Izumo had indicated, he found that the mirror wasn't ready; nor was it supposed to be ready until next week, which was clearly indicated at the top of the page.

As he exited the shop, he had a feeling that Izumo had indeed known this fact. He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air. It felt great.

He managed to keep his mind on nothing but skateboarding all the way back to the bar, pulling all the tricks he could convince his body to conduct. He fell once on a jump that was obviously too high for his body in its starved condition, but he managed to roll onto his shoulder and remained unscathed.

"Your mirror isn't ready, Kusanagi-san. It's not due until next week," Misaki said, slapping the form down on the bar approximately an hour later.

"Ah sorry, Yata-chan," Izumo said grinning knowingly. "That took you a while; you must have taken the long way."

Misaki didn't respond.

"Feel better?" Izumo asked.

"Yeah. Thanks," he said, turning his face away from the bartender. He felt extreme appreciation towards the man.

"Look, I had Totsuka move your stuff out of your old room and into the one on the floor above. You'll have more space up there and a bigger bed. I'm going to move Bando and Shohei into your old room. I figured you'd be ok with it."

Both Izumo and Misaki knew well that Saruhiko wouldn't be coming back, and although it stung, Misaki knew it was for the best.

He nodded.

**********April 29, 2012********

"Come on Yata-san, there's nothing here. Let's get out of here," Rikio said.

"Fine, fine," Misaki reluctantly agreed. The park was growing dark and was now nearly deserted.

"Well, well, well," a voice came from the end of the park.

Misaki looked up to see a familiar silhouette. Even without seeing the person properly, he knew who it was.

"If it isn't Misaki and his faithful _pet_," the voice taunted.

"Yata-san?" Rikio questioned.

Misaki said nothing, but waited for the man to get closer.

"Isn't it past your curfew? What would Mikoto say?"

"Saruhiko…" Misaki said somewhat quietly, with a particular loathing in his voice.

"What are you doing here, _Misaki_?" Saruhiko asked teasingly.

Misaki cringed at the way Saruhiko said his name. He had been the only person other than his parents to ever call him by that name. While he wasn't about to admit it, it still stung, even 9 months later. But there was no way he would let it show.

"What's it to you, Saru?" Misaki countered.

"Hmm what was it you said last time we spoke? That you would kill me? Please, _Misaki_, don't disappoint me," his former partner taunted.

"Is that why you came here?" Misaki asked.

"I've been waiting to run into you, _Misaki,_ I want to _play _with you." The twisted grin on his former comrades face sent a shiver down his spine.

"Quit calling me that. You think you know me?!" Misaki demanded, getting frustrated. He wasn't going to play Saruhiko's game. The traitor didn't deserve the time of day.

"Come on, Yata-san, let's get out of here," Rikio urged.

Misaki stared a moment longer at Saruhiko. There were so many things he wished he could say, but he wouldn't. He turned away, following Rikio.

"Let's go," Misaki said.

"How are things with Mikoto, Misaki? He seems to be losing his nerve. Have you not seen the conditions of his Sword of Damocles lately? What are you going to do when he's gone? Then where will you go? Who will you _flock_ to?"

He could hear the grin in Saruhiko's voice. He stopped in his tracks, willing himself not to turn around.

"Yata-san," Rikio said, sounding slightly worried.

"What a person to envy. He's fueled by nothing but violence. Is that what you aspire to be, _Misaki_?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Misaki said, finally turning to face his former best friend.

"If that's the case, you should be more than willing to _play_. That's what it's all about, isn't it? Violence?"

Misaki turned just in time to see Saruhiko engulfed in his Blue Aura. Misaki's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't right. But at the same time, something about it suited him.

"You're one to talk," Misaki said. He dropped his skateboard in front of him, producing his Aura from his right hand.

"Yata-san! Don't!" Rikio yelled desperately. "What is fighting him here going to accomplish?"

Misaki knew he was right, but he wasn't about to let Saruhiko get away with mouthing off, not after everything that had happened.

Saruhiko laughed manically, "That's more like it!" He drew a long saber from its sheath at his waist.

"So you can use your right arm again," Misaki commented. He knew there had been lingering damage after Saruhiko had been stabbed there. As far as Misaki remembered, he wouldn't have been able to perform the action he'd just seen.

"Munakata-sama has access to the best medical care in the country. Something I doubt Mikoto could ever provide," Saruhiko said, grinning proudly.

Misaki's stomach churned. "The fact that you can even say that man's name makes me sick," he said quietly, feeling his Aura release around him. "And don't you dare disrespect Mikoto-san! He took you in off the streets! When no one else wanted you! He gave you a home!" Misaki yelled. He was getting angry now. This wasn't the person he had known. Or was it?

"Your king will never compare to mine," Saruhiko said, smiling. It was the most genuine expression Misaki had seen yet.

He stood staring at Saruhiko, clad in his new blue uniform, collar popped, sleek saber in hand. But what really caught Misaki off guard was his posture. He carried himself with much more confidence than he had ever seen.

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Misaki shouted, releasing a burst of Aura. He couldn't help but feel that it was weaker than usual.

Saruhiko held his sword ceremoniously in front of his body. "Fushimi, ready," he said.

Misaki had heard enough. He mounted his skateboard and raced forward, ignoring Rikio's persistent objections.

Saruhiko continued to laugh, preparing himself to block Misaki. He sidestepped Misaki's first lunge, turning in conjunction with the skateboarder's sharp turn, but not completely ready for the punch Misaki threw at him. His glasses fell to the ground, but he swung his saber in a skillful manner, causing Misaki to have to dive off of the skateboard to evade the attack.

"You've gotten quicker, _Misaki_," Saruhiko said. Misaki was unsure as to whether or not Saruhiko was teasing him.

"You haven't. You're weaker than ever," Misaki said.

"Well, you're wrong about that," Saruhiko said casually, picking up his glasses and sliding them back up his nose. "I've gained much, much more power since leaving you and HOMRA."

"You fucking traitor!" Misaki bellowed. Again he jumped on to his skateboard, picking up speed and urging his Aura to ignite. Something still didn't feel quite right, but he continued full speed regardless.

They pair exchanged blows, neither really coming out on the upper hand. Growing frustrated, Misaki ignited his Aura as forcefully as possible, but was shocked to find that Saruhiko put up and equally strong barrier. The Red and Blue waves pummeled each other, but Misaki jumped aside when his was finally overwhelmed, the Blue overcoming it like water on fire. He lunged to the left, realizing he likely only had one chance left to get in a good blow since his Aura had been out-competed. He timed his attack to the second that the Blue Aura dissolved; the moment when Saruhiko would not be able to regenerate it quickly enough. He leapt, but was spent backward by what appeared to be a burning red bullet. He felt an overwhelming pain in his right shoulder, and glanced down to find a glowing red knife protruding from the joint.

"Yata-san!" He tuned back in to hear his comrade's shouts.

"Stay out of this, loser!" Saruhiko screamed, launching more knives in Rikio's direction.

Misaki gritted his teeth as the pain radiated all the way down his dominant arm.

"Like I said, _Misaki_, I've acquired much more strength." As he said the words, each of his hands glowed with a different coloured Aura.

"How?" Misaki said through clenched teeth. "WHY?!" He screamed. He ripped the knife out of his arm, dropping it to the ground, preparing himself once more.

But Misaki heard a rustling from the bushes behind him. Rikio shouted in surprise as five men jumped out. Misaki quickly realized they were his clansmen.

"Tch… I'm not stupid enough to play with these odds," Saruhiko said, re-sheathing his sword. Before any of them had a chance to pursue him, he was gone into the darkness.

"Yata-san! Are you alright?" Rikio said, running to his side.

"YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, forcing all of his pain into the sentiment.

"Yata-san!" Rikio said, shaking him by his good arm.

"What happened?" Chitose asked, hurrying to where Misaki had now fallen to the ground, clenching his right arm, but without a pained expression on his face. He was stunned by what had just transpired.

"He just sort of appeared," Rikio said, "Come on, Yata-san, we're leaving," he said forcefully, pulling Misaki's left arm around his own neck and dragging him into a standing position. "Are you going to come on your own or am I going to have to drag you?" Rikio threatened.

"Let me go, bastard," Misaki said, wrenching his arm from Rikio's grasp. "I'm going, ok?!"

"Good," Rikio said, picking up Misaki's skateboard.

Misaki held his hand over the wound, obediently following his comrades back to the bar.

"What happened?" Izumo demanded as the walked in the door.

"Fushimi-kun happened," Rikio said, grabbing Misaki by the left arm and shoving him towards Izumo.

"What?!" Izumo exclaimed, but then caught sight of the blood on Misaki's shirt and veered his attention to that. "Yata-chan, are you ok?"

"Fine," he said, avoiding eye contact. He knew Izumo wasn't referring to the wound.

"Thanks for covering us," Rikio said to the others.

"Hey, that's what we're here for," Fujishima said.

"I had it," Misaki said.

"You had nothing!" Rikio said. He was clearly frustrated by the whole event.

Izumo looked at Misaki, then at Rikio who shook his head. "Well, let's take care of that wound. Shit you guys, I should have an MD with all the injuries I treat here. It'd be nice if you could be a bit more careful."

"I'm going to bed," Rikio said, still shaking his head. The others followed him upstairs, leaving Misaki alone with Izumo.

Misaki pulled off his sweater and let Izumo at the wound.

"Man, Yata-chan, since when was Fushimi stronger than you?" Izumo asked good naturedly, pressing a gauze pad to his shoulder. "Hold that."

Misaki did as he was told. "He wasn't."

"Wait, was this from his saber?"

"No, it was his knife. He has both colours now," Misaki said.

"What? Really? I didn't think that was possible," Izumo said, looking more closely at the cut. "But I guess it would explain why there's no burn. You can't be scorched by Red Aura."

Misaki said nothing; he simply turned his head away.

"I don't think it needs stitches, but you're going to need to take it easy or it will just keep bleeding."

"Mm," Misaki said. He'd been patched up by Izumo so many times that he really didn't think anything of it.

"Are you ok?" Izumo asked.

"Mm," Misaki repeated, staring at the floor.

Izumo grabbed his shoulders and looked him in the eye.

"I'm fine!" Misaki insisted, glancing into Izumo's eyes briefly, but quickly looking away. It was as though by permitting eye contact, he was allowing Izumo a window straight into his heart, and he wasn't about to let that happen.

Izumo stared for a moment longer, but then returned his attention to the wound. He cleaned it and then wrapped it with layers of sterile gauze.

"You can go to bed, but come get me if it bleeds through. If you don't move around too much you should be fine."

"K," he said, acknowledging Izumo so to not be drilled with questions. He hopped off the stool and headed up to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He took his shoes off then climbed into bed, still fully clothed. He'd never felt more wide-awake.

He couldn't get the image of Saruhiko's twisted smile out of his mind. What had happened to him? He had never been that deranged before he left HOMRA. While he had felt extremely confused the night Saruhiko had left, he now felt like he'd never even known him. It was as though he was a totally different person. He rolled over in his bed to face the wall. He felt the sting from Saruhiko's blade in his arm, but it was nothing to the sting he felt in his heart. Two hours ago, he'd been confident that he was over the bastard's betrayal, but seeing him again like that had re-opened so many wounds, not to mention created new ones. Once he'd gotten over the initial shock, the hardest part for Misaki had been not knowing why. It seemed to be the story of his life. He just didn't understand, and it hurt.

He tried to convince himself that the tears threatening were a result of the shoulder wound, but he was fairly certain it wasn't the reason.

_Man the fuck up,_ he told himself. _He was the one who betrayed you._

He knew it was true. Saruhiko had been the one who had left, so why should he still be mourning his loss? He had done such a good job over the last several months teaching himself to be angry and to simply hate his former partner, only to have it all shattered in one night.

His ex-friend's appearance continued to haunt him. There was something different about him though. He portrayed so much more confidence than Misaki had ever seen with his ugly blue uniform and stupid popped collar. It made him want to vomit. The Saruhiko he had known had always teased him, but he'd been modest and humble. But in a way, he seemed happy. As his friend, shouldn't he be happy for him? He couldn't find it in himself to feel that way.

His shoulder burned in painful reminder of how badly he'd been beaten. Izumo was right, Misaki would never have lost to Saruhiko in the past if they had fought. He had always been strong for someone of his size, stature and lack of experience. Yet Saruhiko, who had never been as strong, had beaten him. Misaki remembered how faint his Aura had felt. Could that have been because he was fighting Saruhiko? Was it because his heart wasn't really in the battle? Could he ever really convince himself to truly hate Saru enough to fight him?

That nasty little voice continued to whisper in his mind; _he was the one who betrayed you_.

Misaki groaned loudly and sat up in a fit of rage. Exercising some self-control, he pounded his fist into his pillow rather than the wall. But even with the pitiful action, he felt the pain from Saruhiko's knife emanate down his arm. Would he be forever weakened because of him?

He held his hand to his shoulder and heaved a deep sigh. He needed to get over this.

Feeling dampness on his arm, he realized that the wound was bleeding profusely again. Frustrated, he stood up and flicked on the lights to find that the bandage was soaked with blood. He glanced over at the clock.

10:45.

It was still early; Izumo would still be downstairs. He didn't feel like bleeding all over his sheets tonight.

He opened his bedroom door and headed out into the hall, making his way to the stairs. But he stopped in his tracks as he heard hushed voices coming from downstairs. He immediately recognized Mikoto's voice.

"What happened?" Mikoto asked.

"I guess Fushimi showed up when Yata and Rikio were doing their rounds. Anna saw it." Izumo replied.

"I see. So you sent the others out?"

"Anna wouldn't have said anything if it wasn't a cause for concern."

"True," Mikoto said in a board manner. "Everyone got out ok though?"

Misaki thought this was very uncharacteristic of Mikoto. It wasn't like him to voice his worry for his clansmen; it was one of the reasons that Misaki respected him so much. When he had first come to HOMRA after he'd been found in the back alley, Mikoto was the only person who didn't treat him as though he was going to break. And yet, he still portrayed some sense of compassion.

"Yata was wounded, but it's nothing serious. Mikoto, have you ever heard of someone possessing two colours?"

Mikoto sounded surprised. "Why?"

"Yata said Fushimi had both Red and Blue Aura."

Misaki turned from the spot he was standing. He didn't want to hear Mikoto's reaction to the fact that the person who betrayed him was still using his power. It was cowardly, and Misaki felt a great sense of shame over it. He instead rerouted himself to the bathroom, deciding he would clean up the wound himself. As a result, he missed the last piece of his superiors' conversation.

"It means that he still holds allegiance and loyalty to someone from our clan," Mikoto said assuredly. "And I'm willing to bet that person is not me."

* * *

**A/N: I will point out that I do my best to change up scenes that actually happened in the anime, as it's a) boring to read the same thing you've already seen, and b) impossible to rewrite it perfectly. **

**I would like to extend a HUGE thank you to those of you who reviewed. As any writer knows, it's such a morale boost to hear that people are enjoying your work. And just so you know, I reply to EVERY review posted (unless submitted anonymously), so even if you'd just like to chat, drop me a review or PM! I'm also happy to answer any questions you might have.**

**Thank you to:  
**

**ComposingJealousy, Blood Tiara, Mi-chan story's, Sque-Fangirl, UrBaN AnGeL 9896, miyame-chan, Aqulic, Kyrie, Lariak, and the two anons who reviewed!**

**Your support really does mean the world to me :) **


	4. Chapter 4: To Live Again

**********December 12, 2012**********

"Kusanagi-saaaaan! Can I have another drink?" Misaki asked sluggishly, taping his empty glass on the bar.

"Yata-chan, just because you're legally allowed to drink now doesn't mean that you _should_," Izumo said, taking the glass from him.

"How many times do I have to tell you to quit calling me that?!" Misaki demanded, perhaps a little more forcefully than he would have if he hadn't been drinking all afternoon.

"You're sitting here at my bar drinking my booze for free; I'll call you whatever I please," Izumo said, refilling the glass and placing it in front of the redhead. "You know that under normal circumstances I wouldn't allow this."

"Whatever," Misaki said, burying himself in the fresh glass, all sense of argument lost.

"I'm going for a walk," Izumo said, pulling his jacket off the hook, pushing a fresh cigarette between his lips and heading for the door.

"Who's looking after the bar?" Misaki asked.

"We're not open yet," Izumo said obviously.

"Oh, right."

Izumo had been going for walks multiple times per day since Mikoto's passing. He had taken his best friend's death harder than anyone, but he'd felt that it was his responsibility to make sure the rest of the clan was ok before licking his own wounds. For instance, the only reason he let Misaki drink so much was because it seemed to bring him back to life; otherwise the teen was completely silent. It scared him. Looking after the others made him feel useful, but perhaps in reality it only distracted him from his own pain.

It wasn't until he was alone that he really started to think. He locked the door behind him and flicked his thumb, lighting the cigarette. His Aura had been dwindling lower since the Red King's death. He wondered how long it would be before it was completely gone. Their clan might as well have disbanded. All of their insignias had disappeared immediately following the loss of their leader, and many of the members had stopped coming around all together. And for those who still came, it wasn't the same.

It had been one week. He kept the bar open and available for the younger members, those who didn't have any place else to go or anyone to call their family. But truth be told, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it together. A large part of him simply wanted to leave this city and escape it all. Perhaps he would ask Seri to go with him, though she still had a King to serve.

As he headed down the side street, he encountered a dark figure, sopping wet from the rain. As he approached the person, he realized who it was.

"Fushimi-kun?" Izumo asked, shocked, but not completely thrown off guard by the young man's presence.

Saruhiko looked up, and upon realizing who it was, glanced down and sighed, clicking his tongue.

"You weren't by any chance headed to the bar, were you?" Izumo asked inquisitively, but light heartedly.

"And if I was?"

Izumo stared at the boy for a moment. He thought perhaps Saruhiko might resurface one day, but while the prediction was there, he had never thought about what he might do should the day actually come. "Walk with me."

Saruhiko said nothing, but stared up, obviously surprised by Izumo's forward manner.

"Do you smoke?" Izumo asked, offering him a cigarette.

"No thank you," Saruhiko declined.

"Ah, good boy. I'll be straight with you," Izumo said seriously, "Mikoto was never particularly bothered by your betrayal, but there's a boy sitting at my bar who hasn't been the same since you left. Your departure from our Clan destroyed him. I have nothing against you, Fushimi-kun, but if you plan on coming back into his life, be careful with him. Don't mess with him for your own pleasure."

"Not that it's any of your business, but for the record, it was never for my own pleasure."

"I know," Izumo said.

Saruhiko glared at him.

Izumo leaned against the wall. "He tries so hard to avoid his feelings, but because of it he's missing out on so much. Feelings can be painful, but they can bring so much happiness as well. There's so much darkness locked away inside his heart that I'm scared he'll be consumed by it one day. I know it isn't my place to ask why you left him, but I don't think he could take another betrayal in his state. Keep that in mind, ok?"

Saruhiko took a deep breath and sighed, taking the spot against the wall next to Izumo. It seemed like no one had much fight left in them these days.

"I didn't think he needed me anymore," Saruhiko admitted, staring up at the sky. He was quiet for a moment, but Izumo waited for him to continue. "He seemed so at home with all of you, especially Mikoto. I didn't think it would even faze him if I left."

"I don't think I'm the person you should be talking to about this, but I will say one thing. He looked up to Mikoto and admired him deeply, but it was you that he was bound to. You were the only person he's ever really let in."

Saruhiko stared at the ground for a moment, then finally clicked his tongue. "Well, thanks for the info, old man." He began walking in the direction of the bar, but Izumo stopped him.

"Saruhiko," he said.

Saruhiko turned; startled by the way he'd been so informally addressed.

"He still doesn't know the exact details of what happened to you that night," Izumo said.

"Good. Nor will he ever," Saruhiko said, turning once more toward his destination.

"Come back tomorrow. Preferably early in the day."

"What? Why?" He questioned, eyes filled with resolve.

"He's had too much to drink today. It isn't worth it. He doesn't realize it, but he's vulnerable when he drinks. He needs to be in a better state when he sees you."

"You're letting him drink his problems away? No wonder he's so damn fucked up." He was angry now.

"He's an adult; he can make decisions for himself. Not unlike yourself."

"It's your bar! You can cut him off anytime!"

"I keep him under control, but it's his choice. Perhaps if he still had a friend to steer him in the right direction, things would be different," Izumo said, grinning.

Saruhiko stepped back, as though he'd been physically hit in the chest. He couldn't believe Izumo had actually said that.

Izumo took a long drag on his cigarette and smiled, looking rather satisfied. "To be honest, I'm not at all surprised to see you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I'll see you tomorrow," Izumo said, turning away and heading in the direction Saruhiko had intended to go. He walked away, leaving the young man standing on the street, mouth wide open. He tossed the cigarette on the ground, and headed back inside, his knowing grin still plastered across his face. He felt better than he had in days.

**********December 13, 2012**********

The following morning found Misaki with his forehead pressed against the bar, much like he had been each morning for the last week. Had Izumo not gone to bed after him, he probably would have believed that he'd been there all night.

It may not have been accurate to say that Misaki had taken Mikoto's death the worst of all the members, but it would not be stretching the truth to say that the effects were more visible on him than the others. This was perhaps because he was normally loud and outgoing, so finding a silent Misaki indicated something was very wrong. Or perhaps the others were simply better at hiding their feelings. That wasn't to say that Misaki was particularly emotional; in fact, he was quite the opposite. He spent his days sitting at the bar not speaking to anyone unless he was drunk. He was the only person who hadn't cried, and whether it was in direct correlation to this fact or not, Misaki was also the one person who had not shown any signs of improvement.

For the moment, he was alone at the bar. Izumo hadn't come downstairs yet, and the others didn't generally follow until early afternoon. True, he went upstairs at night, but he hadn't slept in days and as a result, he'd become somewhat of a zombie. But in general, when he was a zombie, he was too tired to think.

And if he couldn't think then he couldn't hurt.

If only it was that simple.

Misaki thought that after he lost Saruhiko, he could never feel more alone. Unfortunately, reality had smacked him in the face and informed him that he had been sadly mistaken. This was the third time he'd felt the extremely bitter sting of loss. Not only had he been close to Mikoto, but he had also looked up to him. It was as though he had lost a piece of himself; he didn't know who he was supposed to be anymore, so he settled for being no one. He felt lifeless; like he was no more than an empty shell; a ghost with no happiness, motivation, or desire to keep living. He had nothing left. His parents, his best friend, and now his King, were all gone.

He did not look up when he heard footsteps making their way down the stairs, nor did he look up when he heard the door unlock and the lights turned on. Izumo had given up trying to talk to him in the last couple of days, apparently deciding it would be better to let time run its course. He heard Izumo's footsteps make their way to the other side of the bar and he began cleaning dishes. He contemplated asking for a drink, as it seemed to be the only thing that could numb the pain, but he doubted that Izumo would allow it at this hour and he simply didn't have it in him to argue.

Misaki didn't even look up when the door chimed indicating that it had been opened. What finally brought him out of his trance however, was the fact that Izumo stopped moving, but then didn't greet the visitor. Something wasn't right. Misaki was alert now, but he still couldn't find the strength to drag his head up off the counter.

"Hi," a familiar voice finally said.

And as though all the potential energy in the world had congregated in his body, Misaki shot up in his chair and spun around, finding himself face to face with none other than his old best friend.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Perhaps it was the lack of food or sleep or the sheer fact that his brain had not received any sort of afferent stimulation in days, but he could not find the words to reply.

After what felt like several minutes, Misaki mustered up the conviction to speak. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Is that how you greet all your customers?" Saruhiko replied.

Misaki studied the man in front of him. Saruhiko was not wearing his Blue uniform; instead he was clad in black jeans, a green sweater and a charcoal grey jacket pulled around his shoulders. His hair had grown longer and exhaustion displayed itself prominently across his face. But with the exception of the numerous healing cuts and bruises similar to his own, nothing had changed. He looked exactly the same as the last time he looked his friend in the eye. And yet he was a completely different person.

"Why are you here?" Misaki asked quietly, having lost what little fight he had found within himself.

Saruhiko took a seat at the bar but was silent. Staring down at his tightly interlaced fingers, he looked as though he might be wondering the same thing.

Misaki snorted under his breath. "Traitor," he muttered, ignoring Saruhiko's shaking hands and feeling no remorse whatsoever.

Saruhiko glanced up at Izumo as though looking for support.

Izumo sighed, pulling two paper cups from behind the bar and filling them with coffee. "Go for a walk you two. I've got some cleaning to do."

"What?" Misaki promptly demanded.

"I need you out of here for a while so I can wipe your forehead prints off the bar," Izumo said.

It was obvious that it was a pathetic ploy to have them speak to one another without the presence of others.

Misaki stared at the cup in front of him. Under normal circumstances he probably would have scoffed and gone upstairs with nothing but a rude remark or gesture. But for some reason, today was different. Maybe it was because he felt he was at the point that he had nothing more to lose. He picked up the cup, stood up, and glanced at Saruhiko who stared back at him in amazement. Obviously he hadn't expected it to be this easy.

The weather was unspectacularly dull. A collection of grey clouds hung over head bringing about a cool crisp December morning.

The first thing that entered Misaki's mind was that he wished he'd brought a jacket. But that thought was immediately pushed from his mind as he realized what was going on at the present moment. He was aimlessly following Saruhiko, who he hadn't spoken to on normal terms in well over a year and who had just happened to walk into HOMRA barely a week after the Red King's death.

He drank his coffee quickly, absorbing the warmth and the energy from it. "What the hell do you want?" Misaki enquired with a little more sentiment than before.

"Isn't that obvious? I want to talk to you," Saruhiko said in a very un-Saruhiko like tone.

"Why?" He shot back.

"Don't make this harder than it already is," Saruhiko said. His voice sounded strained as though he were nervous.

Misaki tossed his empty cup in a near by trashcan, taking the opportunity to look away. "I have no sympathy for you. You fucking left with barely a word. And now you come back at a time like this? What the hell were you hoping to accomplish? Did you come to gloat? To rub it in my face that my King is dead?"

"Of course not," Saruhiko said quietly, sounding hurt.

Misaki stopped and looked at Saruhiko. He wasn't sure why he was so surprised by his shifts in personality. After the last two times he'd encountered him, it had become clear that he was quite capable of doing a three-sixty in terms of character with no notice. That alone made him nervous. But nevertheless, he couldn't pretend he wasn't curious about what brought him down off of his high horse and back to the bar.

"How is everyone after…?" He sounded like he was going mention the Red King's death, but then thought better of it.

"How do you think?" Misaki shot back angrily, but found he was unable to maintain his front while speaking of his late King. "Everyone is pretty shaken up."

"And you?"

"Take a wild fucking guess," Misaki said, looking away. He had learned to harden himself a long time ago, but even now, it was hard not to get emotional when talking about Mikoto. It would have been like losing a father or older brother. But for Misaki, whose father had never loved him, it was worse.

"I'm sorry," Saruhiko said.

"What?" Misaki spat out before he'd even comprehended what he had said.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, staring down at the ground, kicking a small pebble towards the grass.

Misaki stared up desperately at Saruhiko who refused to make eye contact with him. He felt his body begin to shake, unsure if it was due to rage or grief. He glanced down at the ground, not sure what to feel. So many emotions were running through his mind it made him want to puke.

"What the fuck! You lead me on as your best friend, then betray the shit out of me, and now you come back and dump this on me?!"

Misaki was losing himself. He was trembling uncontrollably. What the hell was Saruhiko playing at? Was his sole purpose in life to screw with him?

"WHY?!" Misaki demanded.

Saruhiko looked at a loss for words. He dropped his head. "I never meant to hurt you," he said quietly.

"Bullshit! You fucking tried to kill me! In this very park!" He found himself furiously pointing at the ground.

"I wasn't trying to kill you," Saruhiko said calmly, still refusing to look Misaki in the eye. If he had not been angry beyond belief at that very moment he might have felt sorry for Saruhiko; he looked so helpless. But that was beside the point right now.

"What the hell! You –"

"I wanted to die by your hand," he interrupted Misaki, finally looking him in the eye.

Misaki's jaw dropped to the ground. He tried to speak but no words would come. He stared into Saruhiko's eyes and could immediately discern that he was telling the truth. He'd never seen him appear more raw and vulnerable, and it did _not_ suit him. He felt like his knees were going to give out, and he took refuge on a nearby bench, leaning forward and running his hand through his hair, eyes fixed on the grass ahead of him. What was Saruhiko saying?

Saruhiko sat down next to him on the bench.

"But… why?" Misaki asked, still at a loss.

"I had nothing left." He said quietly.

"Then why did you leave?!" Misaki blurted out. He had made it seem like there was so much purpose in his departure from the Reds.

Saruhiko turned his head in Misaki's direction, then signed loudly and leaned back against the back of the bench. He stared up into the sky, visibly collecting his thoughts.

"Do you really want to hear the sob story?"

Misaki didn't answer; he simply turned to Saruhiko, head in hands.

"I never fit in there. You found your place and were quickly accepted, but it wasn't for me. This is going to sound pathetic, but I'm not sure I belong anywhere. I never have and perhaps I never will. I was attacked that day simply for being a member of Homura, and it ruined me. I knew then that I had to get out, but I waited until I didn't think you needed me anymore. You fit in so well with the others, and you had Mikoto and Kusanagi. I didn't think you would care. I wanted you to, but I knew you'd moved on. I thought maybe Scepter 4 was for me. Turns out I was wrong again. I gave up and was ready to die, but only by your hands."

Misaki continued to stare fixedly at the ground. "Of course I cared. You were my best friend." Upon saying these words, Misaki felt a lump in his throat. Saying the words out loud hurt so much more than simply thinking them. He'd buried his feelings away for so long, and now the demons were attempting to boil over.

"I wasn't fit to be anyone's best friend. That becomes evident when you consider the fact that _I didn't_ think you'd care. I was a mess, Misaki. I know how you must feel. You lost you parents, your best friend, and now your King. I'm sorry. You must feel so alone."

Misaki felt his body heat up as the tears threatened to overwhelm him. "You're a fucking asshole, Saruhiko," Misaki said, his voice finally cracking with the last word. And for the first time in over 3 years, he burst into tears. He buried his head in his knees, unable to control himself.

It was all too much to handle. So many thoughts were racing through his mind that he was unable to discern let alone comprehend the first. He felt his brain going numb, but the tears wouldn't stop. He hated himself for crying, especially in front of Saruhiko. After staying strong for so long, his front was finally crumbling around him to reveal that weak, pathetic child that he so viciously detested. The familiar feeling of wishing to disappear into a hole in the ground and never return nearly smothered him.

He felt Saruhiko hesitantly touch his shoulder, giving him the opportunity to pull away, but he made no such action. Within seconds, Saruhiko pulled him into a hug, and Misaki cried into his chest. He felt pathetic, but he couldn't stop himself. The wave of tears would not cease, and he sobbed harder and harder; Saruhiko tightened his arms around him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again.

It was as though the floodgates had opened, and after being sealed shut for so long, the stream of sadness would not be stopped. He cried for his parents; he cried for Saruhiko, and he cried for his lost King.

He thought back to the day Mikoto had found him in the alley; the day he had last cried. He didn't even have to explain what had happened – Mikoto knew. He understood him. And most of all, he treated him with respect and dignity even when he was at his weakest.

'_Even the strongest person alive feels pain. But upon healing, we grow stronger. It isn't the events that befall us or the people who hurt us that define who we are; it's how we survive. Remember that.'_

Misaki had done everything he could since that day to make himself stronger. He had survived it all, and he did it with a straight face. But even so, it all hurt so badly. He could no longer maintain that straight face; he had failed. And here he was, swimming in his own disaster zone, reduced to nothing more than a sobbing child.

And his sobbing continued.

"I swore I wouldn't cry anym-more," Misaki said, sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve. I s-swore that I would be stronger than this. M-Mikoto taught me that it wasn't about what happened to you, it was about h-how you survived." But he choked on his words, and he continued to cry.

"Misaki, I think your sense of strength is a bit twisted. Emotions are powerful things. It takes a strong person to be able to _face_ them. It's harder to face your feelings and allow them to overcome you at times than it is to lock them away and pretend they don't exist. I know it's easier said than done."

As Misaki heard Saruhiko sniffle, he pulled away and looked up. Saruhiko too, had tears in his eyes.

Misaki saw where his eyes fell, only for a split second. Then he held his breath and boldly reached for Saruhiko's left arm. He heard Saruhiko's breath hitch, and he flinched, but didn't pull away. Misaki slowly rolled up Saruhiko's left sleeve, only to be greeted a surprisingly large amount of furious red cuts. Some looked so fresh that they might have been inflicted no earlier than this morning.

Saruhiko closed his eyes and let out a loud sigh, turning his head away as though he couldn't bear to look at it.

All of a sudden, it clicked in Misaki's mind. Saruhiko had his own way of dealing with his pain. Misaki couldn't fully comprehend how it worked, but he knew why. And for the first time, he felt that he understood what had plagued him for so long.

"Does it help?" Misaki asked calmly, his tears finally slowing.

"I don't know anymore," Saruhiko said, turning his arm over to hide the cuts.

"You've been doing it for a long time, haven't you?" Misaki asked. He felt a strange tingling feeling inside of him; it was as though something that had been itching to be free of him was finally released. He'd wondered about this for so long.

Saruhiko looked at him questioningly.

"I saw it right after my initiation."

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, "and I thought I'd managed to hide from everyone. I should have known," He pulled his sleeve down gently over his wrist and up to his knuckles.

Misaki watched closely. He sensed his opportunity. It was out in the open now, and it would be so easy to ask. But a part of his overwhelmingly arrogant curiosity bowed to the newfound respect he had for his friend. Now wasn't the time. He'd been given the free pass; he'd broken down in front of Saruhiko, and it only seemed right that he ask him to share in return. And yet he sensed that Saruhiko really didn't want to confront those demons right now. And so he closed his eyes and forced it from his mind.

"Now what?" He asked, not knowing where to go from here.

"I quit Scepter 4. I'm leaving, Misaki. I'm going up North to go to school."

"You're what?!" Misaki demanded. He'd come back, made peace (or at least he thought), let Misaki cry on his shoulder, and now he was just going to leave? He couldn't take this again. He began to tremble once more, and his body became hot. Adrenaline coursed through him. He was going to be abandoned yet again. But before he could voice his rage, Saruhiko spoke again.

"Come with me."

"What?" He felt his heart beating strongly in his chest.

"Come with me," Saruhiko repeated, watching Misaki nervously, awaiting his response.

Misaki was about to start shouting at him, insisting that he couldn't simply pack up and leave. But in reality he could. There was nothing keeping him here anymore. The other members were moving on, and maybe it was time for him to do the same. It seemed crazy, but it felt right.

"Ok," Misaki said, cursing his missing filter once more. Could he really do this? Just like that, without a second thought?

Saruhiko's face lit up.

Misaki was in shock. Was he really agreeing to this? To just leave town with his best friend? Was Saruhiko his best friend again? Was it really that simple? There was so much bitterness between them; could it really just disappear?

But after everything that had happened, Misaki was finally starting to put things in perspective. Should the past really matter? He had vowed to try to leave things in the past where they belonged; was this not a prime instance?

"Let's start over, Misaki," Saruhiko said, offering his right hand. "Away from the gangs and the drama."

Misaki sniffed, taking in a deep breath of air. He stared at Saruhiko's outstretched hand, the symbol of his peace offering. Not two hours ago he had held so much hate for this man, but now it was as though it had simply evaporated. Like none of it mattered anymore.

He finally reached out and shook Saruhiko's hand. He glanced up and found himself greeted with a warm smile; one he had not encountered in years.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. In that moment, Misaki felt more hope for the future than he'd ever felt in his entire life. They had both hit rock bottom; they had lost everything. But none of it mattered anymore. Together they would find their way back to the surface; the light comprised of their newly rekindled friendship guiding the way.

And that alone said it all. Life does go on. You simply need to find something worth living _for_.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! Please review and let me know what you thought of it. **

**I'm still contemplating writing an epilogue, so that may happen in the near future... I'm not completely ready to be finished with this story. **

**I AM however, working on something new for K; something very different (same characters). So keep your eyes peeled! **

**I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who reviewed, and a special thank you to Blood Tiara. I know she's in the middle of her exams and probably won't see this for a couple of weeks, but I definitely owe her some credit for the ideas in this chapter (even if she wasn't originally aware of it) and her support in general! Her profile is a great source of information for K readers and writers and you should definitely check it out (there's a link to her profile in the review section for this story). Watch out for stories published by her as well - she has some brilliant ideas! **


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